


"Scary" Smutty Stories to Read in the Dark

by BeeWitched



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aliens, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Bloodplay, Bugs & Insects, Cemetery, Church Sex, Cults, Demons, Eldritch Horrors, Exhibitionism, Fear Play, Fucking Machines, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Good Fun Smut, Guro, Halloween, Horror, Humiliation, Monster Boys, Monster Girls, Monsters, Multi, Other, Oviposition, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Punishment, Religion, Self-Insert, Sensory Deprivation, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Smut, Spooky, Story Compilation, Tentacle Monsters, Vampires, Wax Play, Werewolves, Witchcraft, Zombies, elder gods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 05:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12450336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeeWitched/pseuds/BeeWitched
Summary: A compilation of thirteen 'spooky' stories, all with a spooky theme and a specific kink! Part of a challenge I gave myself. From horny witches and werewolves, to sex in the graveyard, you'll definitely want to read these in the dark.





	"Scary" Smutty Stories to Read in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Chapter I of this little Spooky Special! The theme today is witches and waxplay. A pretty simple mix, but I hope to excite you still!
> 
> There are no huge warnings for this chapter. It contains sex times, waxplay, and some bloodplay.
> 
> The protagonist here is female.

* * *

 

His house is beautiful. Which shouldn’t cause a quiver of unease in my belly, but it becomes something I have to swallow down. I can’t look odd in front of him. I’m quite the lucky girl.

It isn’t at all how I imagined it. When you hear of a witch’s hut, you think of an old wooden shack in the dead of the forest with a slowly caving roof, darkened windows, and an array of dead plants and vines creeping the side. Instead, the roof was nicely hatched, standing over a light stone cottage with clear windows, a flower bed beneath each one, with a cute little door standing between even more beds of flowers. In fact, the entire area is covered in a lively aura, the smell of dozens of different flowers and herbs filling my senses. The one that took care of this place really took their time with the garden. It was still in the middle of the forest, but one that seemed brimming with life.

Perhaps the reason it fills me with a quick apprehension was because it didn’t at all match the man in front of me.

* * *

He was known in town as a witch. It wasn’t a reason to avoid him, in fact, many in the town made habit of asking for his help. Little trinkets to bring luck, small potions to ensure good health. He would occasionally sell a curse or two, with warning that a curse itself is a dangerous thing. But he still sold them. He told me once, as I was always finding reason to be near his little shop that he would set up during the ends of a season, that a person who wanted to curse another usually deserved the consequences. Curses were more expensive. He never seemed to care much about selling them.

He was handsome.  _ Is _ handsome. Many talk about his good looks, some saying that it’s just an enchantment to lure in buyers. I would find any reason at all to come to his shop. Buying a small charm (they were expensive!), asking about a spell or two, or pretending to look at his trinkets and stones all day as others perused his goods and bought enchantments. He never seemed to mind me. I was able to admire him carefully, avoiding his stare. Tall, dark hair which was always well kept, with strong brows and equally as dark eyes. He always wore strange jewelry, earrings of bones or feathers, necklaces that were small vials, or the skulls of a small animal. There was usually a cigarette in his mouth, but the smell never reminded me of my grandfather’s tobacco, instead it gave off a pleasant smell I could never fully place.

I visited him, as usual, busying myself with the items he had for sale, and looking at the handmade jewelry, wondering if I could someday afford one of them. My spirit had nearly left my body completely when he finally spoke to me. For a quick moment, I had realized how much silent time I had spent around him. Did it add up to days? Weeks? The most he ever said to me was the price of an item. And now he was asking--

My name. I gave it to him, stuttering it out. No one else was around, the day was nearing its end, and I knew that it would only be a few minutes until he would begin to pack up his goods into his cart, and begin his journey home. I heard him repeat my name, my breath hitching at the way it sounded on his lips. I wanted to run home, tell my friends, the witch boy -  _ he asked me for my name! _

He said my name again, like music, and it took a moment for me to realize he had asked me a question before calling to me. My cheeks burned.  _ Are you a virgin? _ he asked. I couldn’t find my voice, so I nodded, hoping he didn’t take me as some innocent fool because of my obviously flustered face.

He nodded as well, putting out his odd smelling cigarette onto the ground, stepping on it before looking right at me.

I was invited back to his home.

* * *

I am not a  _ dumb _ girl. I know all the rumors about witches. My grandmother often spoke of witches needing the blood of virgins to conduct powerful spells. I knew exactly what this man was after when I agreed to follow him. But I never cared. I was, somehow, okay with it.

Perhaps that did make me dumb. But right now, at this time, all I feel is  _ luck _ .

I can hear him fiddling with a lock on his door, hearing the small clanks of metal mixing with the sound of a nearby stream. I don’t hurry him, passing time by looking more at the garden around me. It’s filled with a few flying insects, butterflies and bees. I try to take everything in, excited to return home and tell everyone I know about the experience. They will tell me exactly what I already know:  _ you are such a lucky girl! _

The door is soon open, and he is holding it for me. I thank him, walking into the dark front room of the small cottage. It only stays dark for a moment, the man following me and pulling back a few curtains to let in the evening light.

Inside the cottage is nothing like I would have expected. Once again, rumors had clouded my mind, making me expect nothing but cobwebs, candles, and broken furniture. There were candles, and perhaps a few cobwebs up high in hard to reach places, but the entire cottage looked well lived in and very taken care of. Dried herbs and plants cluttered tables and walls, accompanied by enough books to fill the town library. Shells, stones, and small animal skulls sat upon shelves with an eclectic collection of trinkets and other small goods. They are nothing like the things that are sold in his shop - I can feel the sentimental value radiate off each item. Everything is in its place.

I find myself wandering, but he doesn’t stop me. The books all have names I can barely read, let alone pronounce. Old but well-kept furniture sits in front of a fireplace, a telltale cauldron sitting inside it. It isn’t bubbling or brewing with any spells, instead it seems to hold recently made soup, giving the area a hearty smell. I spot a cat on the chair near the fireplace, all black and curled into itself, watching me with careful yellow eyes. I give a small chuckle at the cat - at least one thing is true to superstition.

I find my host standing in front of a door, his eyebrows knitted together. For a quick moment, I realize that I have no idea what his name is. He never gave it to anyone, not a single buyer, giving him the reputation as just ‘the resident witch boy’, a name even I used when mentioning him. I open my mouth, but quickly close it, feeling the embarrassment of only now asking his name. That can stay a secret, perhaps I can find out in a different way.

He mumbles something that I can’t catch, walking away from the door and heading elsewhere. Curiosity bubbles quickly inside me, excitement making it hard to keep in my words.

“Is something wrong...?”

“We can’t use that room today. Off limits.”

I give a small blink, looking at the door again. It’s larger than the other doors in the cottage, heavier with darker wood. A quick shiver runs up my spine, but I promptly ignore it. There’s no reason to be afraid of a door. Even if it is off limits...

“I would still like to see inside it...” I say, hoping to see past the door and see only a small wash room or bedroom. But he doesn’t answer my question, and I quickly push the door from my mind.

Instead, I follow him again, unsure where he wants me or what he is really up to. He enters another door, this one leading to a small bedroom. A bubble of excitement builds up in my chest, seeing his bed, but I try to ignore such thoughts.  _ There’s other reasons he would want a virgin,  _ my mind begins to run off on its own,  _ most men like virgins, right? There’s supposedly something special about taking someone’s virginity, perhaps-- _

His form blocks my view, jolting the thought from my head. I notice a small handful of items in his arm, and quickly take a few steps back, realizing I was in the way just now. He closes the bedroom door, not letting me take much else of the room in. I only had time to notice the bed, which was a mess of pillows and sheets, but not much else at all. Whatever it is we are doing, it doesn’t involve the bedroom. I feel crestfallen, but at least I am able to shove such thoughts from my mind. There’s  _ no way _ I’d be  _ that _ lucky.

I’m directed to the dining room, where he begins to shove aside a small table, a few books and candles falling from the move. He picks them up, placing them where they once were, giving a small sigh as he does.

“I don’t usually do this here,” he says, a hand moving through his hair.

“Where... does it usually happen?” I ask. I still have no idea what ‘it’ even is, but I don’t want to seem oblivious in front of him.

“The basement,” he doesn’t look up, but I can feel that he is talking about the door he stood in front of a few moments ago.

“Oh-, Well...” The  _ basement? _ A nauseous feeling overtakes my stomach, unsure why whatever ‘this’ is, it should happen in a basement. “Why... can’t we--”

“Won’t work.” His words are so quick, so matter-of-fact in a tone that suggests I should have already known this. “Recent hunt, caught a deer,” he speaks as he begins to sweep the dining room floor, leaving a clean space on the wood at our feet. “Not exactly a nice thing to work next to.”

“Oh...!” I am sure he can hear the relief in my voice. No, a recently killed deer would  _ not _ be very fun to be around, the smell alone would be enough to send anyone packing. It’s a relatively normal answer, a good reason to have the room be off limits. I push down all my feelings of unease. Witch or not, this man seems to be pretty ordinary.

“You can undress now. And lay here, on the floor.”

The words are a shock, and I know quickly that there is no way to hide the flush that is appearing on my cheeks. Undress? Entirely? He must mean entirely, or he would have specified. And lay? On the floor? It takes a quick moment to know he is pointing down at the floor he just cleared away. He’s paying me no mind, now sorting through a few things on the table he recently moved, setting candles and stones and other instruments across a small brown cloth.

I grab at my clothes, not to take them off, but quickly considering why I am even here. Perhaps my previous thoughts were on the right track. But why not on the bed? Surely that is more comfortable for both parties involved. Or, perhaps being unclothed is part of spells and rituals? A part of me wants to ask, but my desire to seem strong and brave overrules my ability to speak, and my hands slowly begin to peel off my clothes.

The fact that his back is turned to me only makes things slightly easier. I bite back my nerves once again, telling myself that this must be a normal occurrence to him. I lay where he directed, the cold wooden floor immediately feeling like ice against my bare thighs and back. Embarrassment is welling in every part of me, causing my hands and arms to cover the more private parts of my body. But even as he looks back to me, checking to see if I had listened, he doesn’t seem to care much at all.

I watch his every move, having to focus on something other than my own embarrassment. I see him turn, holding a handful of rough looking rope. He kneels down to me, making my arms tremble in both cold and sudden terror.

“Will you need restraints?” He asks, and my eyebrows furrow as the strange question.

“Are they... necessary?” I ask in return, eying the ropes in his hands. They look rough, enough to cause burns to my skin if they rubbed against me.

“No, not really. Only if you think you’ll thrash around a lot,” he twists the ropes around in his hands carefully, but it doesn’t make them seem any less threatening. “It’s a precise thing.”

I still have no idea what this ‘thing’ even is, but I quickly try to contemplate what my options here are.

“Will is hurt...?” I ask, trying again to sound strong, but knowing that my trembling has spread to my shoulders and legs.

“Mildly.”

It’s all he says, looking down at me. Mildly. It at least meant I wasn’t going to be hacked into pieces as a virgin sacrifice. I could deal with ‘mildly’. The word even brings a small sense of relief once again.

I give a small smile, hoping my teeth aren’t trembling as well. “I’ll be fine,” I say, giving a shake of my head. “I’ll be still...”

A smile appears across his lips. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile in a way that wasn’t trying to sell a spell or curse to someone for a high price. “That’s a good girl,” he says, his tone full of praise, and as he stands to put away the ropes, a beaming sense of pride wells up inside me.  _ I  _ am  _ being good,  _ I tell myself, body wiggling just slightly in a bout of excitement.  _ I’m being very good for him. He’ll praise me more, the more I listen, the less I move around. _

He tells me to stay for a moment, and I do, quite happily now. I can hear him walk off a bit, and the sound of a door opening. The sounds of stairs hit my ears now, and I quickly assume he is heading down into the basement, the one with the freshly hunted deer. There are other things down there, I am sure of that, perhaps tools of the trade for witches. I pull my knees up to sit my feet onto the cold floor, giving my thighs a moment to warm. Even with my body staying here, the floor hasn’t warmed up at all, staying cold against my skin.

I hear the stairs again, followed by the closing and locking of the basement door. He comes back with a small jar. I can see it contains something black, but I don’t dare question him of it yet, afraid it’ll break his concentration. He puts the jar with his other mess of things, and soon kneels down, knees sitting beside me.

I watch him as he dips his fingers into the dark liquid, first drawing a large circle on the floor around my body. His hands are quick, adorning the circle with symbols and words in a language I can’t even recognize. The liquid stays dark on the wooden floor, but the smell seems strong, making my nose wrinkle whenever his fingers come closer to me. As he draws, he begins to hum, or perhaps it’s a chant. I can’t tell, the words making no sense to my ears, but I can tell there’s a pattern to his words. Other things are sat around me, rocks and herbs and pretty little crystals, followed by a colorful array of lit candles. It’s all hard to watch perfectly, trying to make sure I stay as still as I can.

My body is then positioned. His hands are rough, and I try my best to not squeak or squeal as he takes my arms and places them at my sides. A rush of arousal hits me as he takes my legs, putting them flat on the ground and slightly spread. But I must stay still, and obedient. I don’t want to mess up his spell.

A pinch at my inner thigh causes me to gasp, my body flinching before I can try and remind myself to not move for him. Another comes at my hips, and soon at the skin beneath one of my breasts. They don’t hurt much, and I keep in my noises, watching his face and trying to find a reason for the sudden little pinches, but I find no answers there. I quickly chalk it up to  _ he’s trying to tease you, and make you move _ , and finally give a louder gasp as the next pinch falls to a nipple, this time a lot harder than the pinches before.

A whine follows the gasp, my hands gripping and turning into fists in attempt to not move. The pain doesn’t last for long at all, I’ve suffered more pain than simple pinches before. In the end, it has only succeeded in making my body feel warmer, sweating slightly, not minding the cold of the floor as much anymore.

My eyes close for just a moment, and I can hear the sounds of him moving and grabbing something. I focus on a moment on my breathing, feeling the arousal only building more, and wonder for a moment if that’s the point of all of this. Did I really have to be a virgin for him to do all these things...?

I open my eye to see a candle in his hands. He is standing over me now, being careful of where he steps as to not ruin the drawings around me. A quick sense of alarm hits me as I see him tilt the candle, and my entire body tenses as I watch the thick droplet fall towards my stomach.

It’s  _ hot _ . Like a small hot iron being pressed against my skin and refusing to be pulled off. I gasp as my hands turn into fists once again, nails digging into my palms as my breathing turns ridged. It doesn’t stop with one, not allowing me to catch my breath before another hot droplet of wax hits and immediately turns thick against my body. The first droplet begins to cool now, turning from a raw burning sensation to a now dull warm sting. But that doesn’t help at all from the new droplets falling against my skin.

Each one causes my body to give a flinch, and my eyes screw shut as I try to be  _ still _ for him. My stomach is burning in a handful of different areas now, and a few new spots on my legs have begun to sting. A new droplet hits my inner thigh, sensitive skin screaming as wax begins to travel down my skin in thick hardening strings. More strings of wax join them, all of them as hot as the last, feeling more and more intense the closer they fall to my inner lips.

I fear for a moment that he will pour the wax  _ onto _ me, or worse,  _ into me _ . But I push the fears away, telling myself that he wouldn’t be so cruel. But a new height of pain rips through me, causing my back to arch in any attempt to get away and make him  _ STOP. _

There’s a pause, only for a moment, allowing me to breathe and take in everything. The pain is radiating from my nipples, one having a generous mound of wax cooling over it, the other the wax missing the full nipple when I arched and moved away. The pain is still strong on both, making me bite my lip and fail to hold in a whimper. He puts the candle down and I couldn’t be more thankful, letting out a shaky sigh.

There’s no apology from him - though I didn’t expect one - and soon he sits again at my side. The dark jar is in his hands again, and I note a cigarette between his lips. Across my reddening skin, he begins to write with the dark liquid. I can tell now that the liquid is a deep red, appearing lighter on my skin than it did on the floor. With his clean hand, he keeps my body still, legs properly spread and arms at my sides.

“Deer...?” I manage to ask, hoping he knows I am talking about the red liquid being spread across my body in small drawings and symbols. He gives only a nod to me, and I notice he is still speaking his strange pattern of words under his breath, taking breaks only to bring the cigarette to and from his mouth. There’s a smell in the blood, of course. I do my best to ignore it, trying instead to focus on the cigarette smell coming from the man above me. I make a mental note to ask him what herb it is, or if it’s even an herb.

The drawings cover my body, and his careful fingers are a nice change from the burning wax, which has turned into a cluster of small stinging welts across my skin. I can feel his gaze even more so now, the arousal bubbling again as I begin to no longer care about the pain from the wax or the smell of the blood. His cigarette is put out, allowing his free hand to wander my body, shivers running up my spine as the rough fingers touch sensitive skin and occasionally peel off a now cold bit of wax.

His hand moves in a wandering way, though I can tell it’s not a shy touch at all, only distracted mildly by his words and symbols. My eyes close as I focus only on his hands, trying to map out what he is drawing on my skin, and the other fingers which are now sliding between my open legs. My breath hitches as I feel him slip between the folds there, and I know I should be self-conscious by the wetness he must feel, but my mind is miles away from such a thought, my hips very slightly arching up to meet his hand.

He doesn’t reprimand me for moving my hips, making me hope it’s a move that’s allowed. His fingers dance around my entrance for only a few moments, rubbing against my clit with shallow teasing movements, before delving deep inside me without a hint of warning. A yelp catches in my throat as I bite my lips to refuse its escape, turning it into a breathy gasp as my knees instinctively begin to move together. A quick push with his other hand reminds me to stay in position, my eyebrows furrowing as I do my best to listen.

There’s a new sting now, one that is deep in my core, one that I feel, somehow, could have been avoided if he had just been a bit more gentle. But that doesn’t matter now, as his fingers never cease their movement, the feeling only getting gradually tighter as I know more fingers have been pushed deep to join the others.

My hands are hurting, only from the constant press of fingernails into their palms. My nipples are still in pain, a dull throb that isn’t leaving, as well as the sting across the entirety of my body. But slowly, the pain begins to mean less. The hand that was drawing across me has stopped, and I can notice through hazy eyes that the blood once on his fingers has been cleaned off. That hand is now on my hips, holding me still as the other continues its rhythm inside of me.

I can already feel something inside me rising, becoming stronger with each thrust his fingers make. The hand on my hip is helping or else I would be arching my entire body into the sensation. Occasionally his thumb presses against my clit, causing a quick second of warmth to jolt through my body. I want him to focus more there, only there, I try to beg and plead but my mouth cant form the words I want to say, only coming out as a string of strange moans and pleas.

There’s more whining. It seems distant, the sound of a cry, but part of me is sure it didn’t come from myself. But the thought is forced away from my mind, the coil in the core of my body bursting forth like a cup spilling over and crashing on the floor. I can’t help but thrash now, I can’t help my body arching and legs pulling up, shaking and trembling as a loud cry escapes my chest. It comes in waves, making my hips press closer to the hand inside me, and my breath hitch over and over before I can really ride it out, letting it subside as a buzz seems to take over me entirely.

The buzz turns into a low hum, a warmth making me feel tired and limp, legs returning to their rightful position and hands finally unclenching. Everything feels wonderful - everything  _ hurts _ . I had forgotten the throbbing pain of the wax, but slowly they begin to remind me that they still exist, still angry and still there.

I take moment to catch my breath, eyes fluttering open to see him working, kneeling still near my legs. A small clean vial is in his hands, and a new wave of embarrassment washes over me as I see him bring it down to my center. Fingers move around in overly sensitive bits, and I try not to squirm to make his job easier. Soon the vial is coming back up, and my cheeks feel hot as I notice the liquid inside. Murky, bits of it clear, with that hint of red blood that needs no explanation. I’ve been told in the past that, as long as you are careful, you can get away without causing any blood... But that never seemed to be the point, here.

“Is... that it?” I ask, my voice careful and rough. I clear my throat, trying to push away the hoarse tone.

“Yes,” he says with that nonchalant tone of his, standing to put the vial on the table beside us. He works on cleaning up, not giving me any orders to move, so I stay still where I am.

“That’s... virgin’s blood, isn’t it? Is that what you needed?”

“Yes.”

“Am I... not a virgin now?” How did this even work? I know many people (and books, usually the religious kind) that require actual intercourse for virginity to be taken. But this was... extreme. Perhaps it counts...?

I hear him chuckle, a new noise to my ears. The only laughs he’s ever given before were the ones accompanied by that fake smile, the one only trying to sell a good bottle of spells.

“You’re still a virgin, technically speaking,” he begins, trailing off as he still sorts through the objects on the table, putting a large cork in the large vial of blood, and a smaller daintier one in the vial he had collected from myself. “The  _ first _ blood, however. That’s the most powerful.”

I look at the vial between his fingers. There’s not too much of it at all, probably enough for only a single... spell, or incantation, or curse, or whatever blood like this was used for.

“I gave you something very powerful, then?” He nods at my words, and I feel a sudden sense of pride well up again. I was a help. A  _ big _ help. I didn’t care what he needed that vial for, I am happy to be of good service to him.

“The rest of my blood, then...” the words are leaving me before I have time to consider them, “It’s still valuable too? Is it of use to you...?” I see him pause his movements, and I wonder if he is stuck in thought, and my words begin to fall out even faster. “I could give a bit more, right? If I... stay a virgin. I could stay awhile, give a vial now and then.”

It was safe. As long as he only takes a little bit at a time, I could probably give him vials of blood forever. Just a little bit at a time. I smile at the thought, letting my hands run down my body and mix with the blood and cooled wax. It should be a scary thing, seeing that blood and the small welts all over my body, but I couldn’t help but feel only desire and eagerness. I could live with this. I could give him as much blood as he needed.

I hear him chuckle again. It’s different from the other one. Something catches in my throat, a sense of dread that I have been pushing away since I arrived in this cottage. This nice, well kept, very cute and well lived in cottage.

“I never intended on letting you  _ leave. _ ”

He kneels next to me once more, and for the first time, I realize that I am cornered. There’s a smirk on his face, nothing like the smiles from before, nothing like the man I’ve been seeing come to our town time and time again for the past few years. He’s so handsome with that dark smirk, and a sudden part of me resents him for that.

“Would you still like to see the basement?”

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey nerds. Here's some places you can find me ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Main Twitter: [@witchpepper](https://twitter.com/witchpepper)  
> NSFW Twitter: [@icky_witch](https://twitter.com/icky_witch)  
> Tumblr: [@witchpepper](https://witchpepper.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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